


Happy Birthday

by SixtySevenChevy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Brotherly Affection, Fluff, Gen, Happy Birthday Sammy, i suppose it could be slash if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-03
Updated: 2013-05-03
Packaged: 2017-12-10 06:05:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/782668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SixtySevenChevy/pseuds/SixtySevenChevy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Sam's birthday.</p><p>Just a little birthday drabble for my baby boy. I figure, if I can write birthday presents for real people, why not fictional characters?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Happy Birthday

**Author's Note:**

> Fyi, I had no idea where this was going when I wrote it.

Sam had never had the best of luck with birthdays. For one, he never really got to have any as a kid. Dad was never home, and he was seven by the time Dean was able to take him to do fun things. Then he left, and Jess would try to celebrate, but he wasn’t very into it. And after that, he died on his birthday, Dean sold his soul on his birthday, and a year later Dean died on his birthday.

So, no Sam Winchester and birthdays do not mix.

Until now, that is.

XXXXX

Sam is yanked from sleep by the insistent voice of his brother. He tries to ignore it, burrowing deeper into his blankets and pillow, but Dean doesn’t let up. He just keeps repeating himself impatiently. “Sammy, wake up.”

“No,” Sam forces out.

“Come on!” Dean sounds scandalized.

“Why?”

“It’s your birthday, dumbass!” 

Sam wrestles one eyelid open and stares, angrily, at his brother. Dean smirks and looks at him expectantly. Sam, groaning, shakes his head. “I’m not getting up.”

Dean’s smirk disappears instantly. “How come?”

Sam lifts his head off the pillow and does his best to glare. “I just don’t really like birthdays,” he says honestly, and flops back down. Dean lets out an angry huff of breath, and jabs a finger into Sam’s side. Sam grunts and wiggles away from him, but Dean pokes him again.

“I’m going to keep going until you get up,” Dean threatens, driving his finger once more into Sam’s ribcage. Sam, giving in, rolls onto his back and sits up, giving Dean his most powerful bitchface. Dean pouts at him and pokes him one last time. “Morning, Sammy!”

“Shut up,” is Sam’s only reply. It’s six in the morning. He wasn’t even born for another hour.

“Come on, I made some damn good pie,” Dean says, beckoning Sam with a finger. Sam resigns himself to eating pie with his brother, and swings his legs out of bed. He’ll put blue dye in Dean’s shampoo later.

Sam shuffles down the hallway, trailing after the sound of Dean’s happy whistling. 

Dean was right. He did make damn good pie.

XXXXX

It’s long after they have demolished the pie, and are sitting comfortably on the couch, that Dean brings it up. He shifts in his seat, fingers tapping out a nervous rhythm on his beer, and worries at his bottom lip. “So,” he says. “Why don’t you like birthdays?”

Sam sighs heavily. “I just don’t.”

“You used to love them,” Dean protests, furrowing his brow and tilting his head to the side a bit. Sam thinks he might be spending a bit too much time around Cas. “Before you left, you used to love having your birthday.”

“I suppose,” Sam admits noncommittally.

“And the year after we got back together, you had a great time on your birthday,” Dean says. “So what happened?”

Sam doesn’t answer.

It takes Dean all of ten seconds to get it. 

When he does, his eyes go wide. He sucks in a surprised breath and hunches his shoulders, almost as if expecting a physical blow. His hand tightens on his bottle enough that Sam is worried about its safety. Dean’s jaw works, expression one of pure horror. When he speaks, it’s in a rush.

“Sam. Oh, Sammy. I’m so sorry. You… you died on your birthday. And I sold my soul on your birthday. And then I died on your birthday. No fucking wonder you don’t like them anymore,” Dean pauses, takes a breath, and continues. “This is my fault.”

“No!” Sam exclaims. “It isn’t! I just… bad things happen on my birthday. People die.”

Dean comes closer, resting a hand on Sam’s shoulder. “Not anymore,” he says, and though Sam can see the pain and self-loathing in his eyes, he believes his brother. 

Sam sighs and nods once, turning the conversation to lighter topics. “Heard from Cas?”

Dean’s eyes light up, and he launches into a story about something Cas emailed him. Sam watches him, glad that the crisis was properly averted, and wonders just why Dean got so freaked out about his birthday. Maybe he’s just stressed about the absent angel, off doing God knows what all alone.

From the look of pure happiness that crosses Dean’s face when he mentions Cas’ name, Sam thinks he’s right about that.


End file.
